Radha Kaise Na Jale
by Morning Chrysanthemum
Summary: How can Radha not be jealous?  That is the question. Now, if we substitute her with England, and his lover is...then you get this! Songfic, FrUK. Rated for implications.


***is shot* I'm sorry, but this idea won't leave me alone! Stupid plot bunny…oh? How did you know it's green and has wings? *shot again* I own nothing. The song is "Radha Kaise Na Jale" from Laagan. Only English translation once again. If you want the original, go look it up on YouTube or something. Like I said before, I'm too lazy to put in the Hindi ones.**

**It's also my first FrUK fic, so I apologize if I didn't portray the two correctly. Please enjoy?**

…**..**

"_There is no greater glory than love, nor any greater punishment than jealousy.__" [Lope de Vega]_

Or so Arthur Kirkland wanted to think. At least for the first part. But he couldn't bring himself to believe in it, not after…

He shook his blond head and let his eyelids fold over his emerald eyes._ No need to think about it, just wait for him to come…_

It was 6 in the morning, and he desperately needed to let sleep envelop his mind, but pride and…another emotion forbade him from doing so. What was it called? When anger and anguish build up inside you when the person you love is see with another…was it-?

" _Sourcils! _" came an urbane, French-accented voice from behind him. "_Aviez-vous attendu ici toute la nuit?*"_

The Briton almost chuckled in spite of himself. Did the Frenchman actually have the nerve to ask that? He, who was gone all night, doing God-knows-what, now arrived home, strolling as if he owned the place. Which he did, but it still was quite infuriating how he just casually brushed it off. Like a piece of lint on his cloak. England bristled, but continued keeping his back toward the other man.

"Maybe. Care to take a guess why, Francis?"

Said man guiltily shifted about. "_Je suis désolé, mon cher**._ But I had to take care of something. With Madeline._"_

Arthur struggled to keep his voice level. It was so like his lover to flirt with others and go around His effort resulted only in a slight strain. "I…see. Is that all? Did it really take you 8 hours?" A joking tone would usually help with being casual, but a bitter layer was turning that would-be joking statement into a sarcastic one.

Francis immediately noticed it. "What's wrong, _Angleterre?_ Do you not believe me?"

Now, Arthur could have said a lot. He could have yelled at France, told him how scared he was of losing the only Nation that always seemed to know him best, the one that would always accept that obstinacy with a smile and a possible lewd remark. But the only words that escaped his lips were,

"_In the honey garden, when Krishna meets a gopi _[cow-herd girl]_,_

_He sometimes smiles, sometimes teases, sometimes talks._

_How can Radha not be jealous?"_

So that's what it was called. Jealousy. The word seemed so superficial. Yet he turned around and continued:

"_Fire burns in her body and mind._

_How can Radha not be jealous?"_

Francis narrowed his cerulean orbs. He raised one of his much thinner eyebrows, while a small smile tugged at his lips.

"_In the honey garden, even if Krishna meets a gopi,_

_In his mind, only the flowers of Radha's love bloom._

_Why should Radha be jealous? _

_Without thinking, without understanding._

_Why should Radha be jealous?_

_The gopis are the stars, Radha is the moon._

_Then why does she not give full trust?"_

The Englishman's eyes widened. A scarlet blush colored his usually white face [no racism intended]. Though he still tried to maintain his angry expression as he sang,

"_If Krishna's attention is wandering from here to there,_

_Then what would poor Radha think about herself?"_

France released a tiny chuckle.

"_Gopis will come and go, Radha is this heart's queen—_or king, in this case," he added quite jovially while Arthur's flush deepened.

"_From dusk till dawn on Jamuna's banks,_

_Krishna only calls for Radha."_

Now it was the Briton's turn to raise an eyebrow. It took him much less effort than it would have seemed, what with the size of those "caterpillars", as Francis had christened them. "Oy, you blasted frog," he growled.

The Frenchman's smile grew wider and he moved closer; after being with England for so long, he had come to learn that "frog", no matter insulting it seemed, was actually a term of endearment.

(Well, that was only if it came from Arthur. But it's not like anyone else called him something other than "pervert". Not that he minded. It was only a small price to pay for the joy of knowing that he himself spread _l'amour._)

The Englishman went on:

"_When someone puts her garland of arms around Krishna's neck,_

_How can Radha not be jealous?"_

And God knew how many times he had seen that. Naturally, women were attracted to Francis the same way opposite sides of a magnet would be to each other. A bloody hour couldn't pass by without some slut (yes, to Arthur, they were all sluts) trying to flirt with France. Always blushing, gazing at him with googly-eyes, fiddling with their clothes in a not-so-innocent way, et cetera. If he wasn't so pissed off, the spiky-haired-blond would have laughed at how disheveled the Frenchman looked every time a woman tried to come onto him.

"_Fire burns in her body and mind._

_How can Radha not be jealous?_"

A deep breath followed, but the song still lived on:

"_If Krishna has only kept Radha in his heart,_

_Then why doesn't he tell her this?_"

The more tranquil blond pondered this for a moment while he still inched closer, wanting to think of something worthwhile to say for once. Finally, when he was right in front of Arthur, he opened his mouth.

"_We speak of love in different languages, different tongues._

_The message is sent through eyes, this is all Krishna hopes." _

Another moment of silence. Were his words sincere? Would they be taken the right way?

The so-called "Pirate Gentleman" softened for a moment, but his voice remained callous and cynical.

"_These eyes Krishna has,_

_They snatch away the gopis' with ease._

_When the gazes met, _

_A light-skinned woman—_man, actually—_got angered."_

Francis let out a resigned sigh, mixed with some exasperation.

"_Even if Krishna's love is cultivated in his heart,_

_Why should Radha be jealous?"_

And there he goes, asking another stupid question. Arthur stiffened.

"_How can Radha not be jealous?"_

"_Why should Radha be jealous?"_

The pair go back and forth, exchanging these two questions.

Finally, Francis yields, unsurprisingly. A tired smile is on his face. It fits in with the stubble on his chin. For a few seconds, he looks exactly how a middle-aged man would. He holds his hands up, assuring peace. "All right, _Sourcils._ I promise I'll come on time from now on."

The first genuine smile in a while appeared on Arthur's face. "About time you understood, bloody wine pervert."

"But you love this pervert, _non_?" His voice was mockingly begging.

"Ah, let's see…how should I answer that?" The smile turned into a smirk.

"Mon cher, how could you? After all we've been through…" France's eyes resemble those of a pleading puppy. Which is just enough to make England crumble.

"Kidding, you fool."

"Hmph. I believe some punishment is in order, _oui_?" Now _his _expression turned smug.

Arthur pretended to look horrified. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would." France began stealthily moving even closer to the other man before-

_RIIIIIIIIIINNNNGG!_

How ironic that a cell phone, usually one of the most important items to have, would seem so impertinent at this moment. The Frenchman answered.

"_Bonjour?... _yes this is him….ah, I'll be right there." Another sigh was released from him. "_Je suis désolé," _he said again. "Madeline wants me to go back again. A pain in the ass, if you ask me. But I'll be back, _bien_?"

The Briton forced his smile to show up this time. "Sure, I don't mind." His voice could have belonged to a robot.

Francis kissed him—chaste, yes, which was unusual for him, but it still retained some passion-before departing.

The pseudo-smile faded. Arthur sighed, and sang one last time, more to himself than even flying Mint Funny.

"_How can Radha not be jealous…?"_

…..

**I think this might be my longest songfic yet, besides Chupke Se. Go figure that it had to be FrUK. *shot***

"**Have you been waiting all night?"**

"**I am sorry, my dear."**

**And so, just so you aren't jumbled up…Krishna is one of the famous gods in Hinduism, and Radha is supposedly his favorite conquest. (She started out as a gopi too…weird, eh?) In a way, this song kinda represents Zeus and Hera. Think of it that way. But if you want more info, here's a link: (get rid of the spances)**

**http:/ en. wikipedia. org/ wiki/ Radha_Krishna**

**Anyway…read, review, all that…or I shall forever lose my self-esteem…I'm just kidding. XD *shot* But still…review!**


End file.
